


Come Together Right Now (Over Me)

by ScotlandEvander



Series: Don't Ever Change [18]
Category: Benedict Cumberbatch Fandom, British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston Fandom
Genre: Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Getting Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 19:49:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScotlandEvander/pseuds/ScotlandEvander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Here.”</p><p>I look up from the sewing machine to find my dad extending a credit card at me. It appears to be his credit card, which is weird on all kinds of levels. Besides the fact I’m an adult now and have my own, my dad proclaimed after I graduated from college he’d never let me anywhere near his credit card again. </p><p>“Uh, Dad, that’s yours,” I point out, figuring he’s simply confused. </p><p>“I know. I want you to buy yourself a plane ticket to wherever the hell Ben is at the moment,” he orders me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Together Right Now (Over Me)

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Long time no update, I know, I know. I kind of got hit with MASSIVE writer’s block for this story. I had all these cute ideas for scenes between Tom and Pamela, but then when I sat down to write them, they came out horrible and there was NO point to them at all. I also kept getting ahead of myself and distracted by Ben and Door. FINALLY, I worked some of the Tom and Pamela fluff into the stuff I had written for Ben and Door. YAY! 
> 
> Warning: All the characters in this story are adults, so they will do adult things in their relationships. None of it is graphic, but just a head’s up, things are about to get serious y’all.

  
OoOoOoOoO

_Pamela_

“No.”

“How can you not?”

“Mom, I don’t have the time to surf the internet for Thomas.”

“But…you’re missing everything,” Pamela’s mother gasped. “I mean, how can you tell me if he’s really like this in real life if you haven’t watched any of the interviews or seen any of the photos?”

“I know how he really is, that’s why,” Pamela said, walking across the living room to the desk, which she had moved back to where it likely had lived most of its life before she’d entered its world. She shut her laptop and began to pack it up. It was kind of bittersweet to be packing up her hotel room to start on the next leg of her journey through life. First, she was going to drive herself to Enid and buy a house (or a condo or something). Then, after dropping in on her parents for a little while, she was going to go see Tom.

God, she wanted to see him. Touch him. Drag her fingers through his hair. 

Mostly things she ought not to be thinking about while on the phone with her mother. 

“So, he doesn’t ruin people’s lives?”

“What?” Pamela asked, almost dropping her laptop on the ground. 

“The internet claims he ruins lives and explodes ovaries.”

Pamela opened and closed her mouth a few times, having no idea how to respond. 

“He even acknowledged his fans claim he ruins their lives and he’s okay with it,” her mother went on. 

“How does being a fan of his ruin lives?” Pamela asked, staring blankly out the window, her laptop forgotten in favor of trying to wrap her mind around this information. 

“I don’t know. He seems like a very nice man,” her mother placated. “I mean, in his interviews he seems lovely. Not that you can tell me if that’s how he really is.”

“How else would he be?”

“He’s an actor.”

“You’re point?”

Her mother sighed. “Pamela, actors act. That’s how he makes his living. He might simply be acting so gosh darn charming. I mean, is he for real?”

A yellow cab pulled into the parking lot and came to a stop right in front of Pamela’s window. 

“He’s real,” Pamela stated. “Very real.”  

“Is he nice?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Does he really call everyone ‘darling?’”

“Yes, actually,” Pamela said as a familiar looking blond head got out of the cab’s backseat. The driver leapt out and raced around to the trunk where the tall, lanky figure had headed. The pair had a polite fight over who was going to carry the suitcase up the stairs. 

The tall, lanky, blond haired man wearing a dress shirt and slacks (crazy man) won.

“Mom, I gotta go.”

“What?”

“I gotta go,” Pamela said. 

“Honey, what’s wrong?”

The man paid the driver, keeping his back to the building while he walked backwards still talking to the driver. The driver finally got into the cab and the tall man turned, smiling a ridiculously large smile as he headed for the stairs. 

Pamela matched it.

“Thomas is here.”

“Hiddleston?”

“Yes.”

“OH!”

“I gotta go. See you in a few days,” Pamela said in a rush hanging up on her mother before running across the room to the door. She slid across the wood floor before grabbing onto the handle and stopping herself. She opened the door just as Tom was about to knock. His face lit up at the sight of her. 

“Hello, darling dove,” he greeted. 

Pamela didn’t bother with words. Noticing the insane man was wearing a tie of all things (who wore a tie on a transatlantic flight?), she grabbed it and dragged him into the room. She caught him off guard, so he dropped his hold on his suitcase, which was left outside when the door slammed shut. Tom grunted as he almost fell into Pamela, but she pushed him backwards till his back was pressed up against the now closed door. Tom stared at her, his blue eyes wide, but excited. She was too short to simply kiss him without dragging him down to her level and she didn’t want to choke him or jerk him around any more, so instead she threw her arms around his neck and jumped. Tom caught her under her thighs and supported her as she wrapped her legs around his waist and threaded her fingers through his hair. She kept her eyes locked on his till her lips hit his, then they fluttered shut. 

Having never been a fan of kissing before, there was a small part of Pamela’s brain that was confused by her behavior. She didn’t act like this. There was a larger part of her brain that demanded she behave like this more often because it felt amazing. 

Then again, every single time she kissed Tom it felt utterly amazing. Each time it got better. 

It was completely illogical. 

“Well,” Tom breathed when they pulled apart for air, “I might surprise you more often.”

“I hate surprises,” Pamela whispered against his lips, still clinging to him and pressing him against the door at the same time. 

“Funny way of showing it,” Tom muttered, bending his head and kissing her neck.

Pamela’s brain ceased to operate.  

* * *

“I wonder if my case is still outside.”

“Huh?”

“My case. You dragged me in here and I lost my grip on it in my surprise.”

“Stop sentences.”

“Pardon?”

“No talk.”

“Pamela, love, I’m going to get my suitcase.”

“No.”

“I’ll need my toothbrush.”

“No.”

“I’ll be back.”

“No.”

“I won’t?”

“Not going.”

“I’ll just wait till you fall asleep.”

“Fine.”

“Alright.”

OoOoOoOoOoO

* * *

OoOoOoOoOoO

_Tom_

If Tom had not known Pamela was moving onto bigger and better things, he would have been almost depressed to see the packed up hotel room (when he finally got around to looking after Pamela fell asleep). He was a little melancholy, as this was the place where many special moments had occurred and where Pamela had lived for the past four months. 

Opening the door, his bag was where it’d fallen. Grabbing it quickly, he retreated back inside the controlled environment and out of the oppressive Texas heat. Carry the case, he headed to the bathroom and washed away the grime of his day. 

It’d been a long day. 

Actually, it’d been a long few months. But the last few days, when he was counting down to when he’d seen Pamela in person again, seemed tremendously prolonged. He was massively excited, granted, so he kept an upbeat attitude throughout the long days of commitments, but trying to keep his secret arrival from Pamela had been hard. All he wanted to do was tell her he was coming and they’d have almost an extra week together. 

He was very glad he’d kept his mouth shut.  He doubt his greeting would have been what it’d been if she’d known he was coming. 

Picking his tie up off the floor where it’d landed at some point, Tom grinned, tucking it into his suitcase. He turned off the living room light, entered the bedroom, and crawled back into the warm bed. Pamela grunted in her sleep, muttering about cold and burrowing further into the pillows. Finding that too adorable, Tom wrapped his cool arms around her heat generating body, pulling her flush against him. She rolled over to face him automatically. 

“Pohimsdgh.”

“That’s not a world, love,” Tom whispered into her hair as she pressed her face to his chest. 

“Mhsph.”

Tom chuckled, feeling Pamela snuggle into him as she’d been doing the pillows. Smiling, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift off to sleep. 

* * *

“Is that everything?”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t bring much with you, cinnamon.”

“No. I’m a light packer.”

Tom hummed. “That is hardly more than you had with you when I met you.”

Pamela frowned, looking into the Jetta, which was not packed to the seams like Tom figured it would be after four months of living in a hotel room. Having resided in a hotel room for extended periods, Tom knew things tumesced. He almost always ended shipping a box or two home of items (mostly clothes) that refused to go back into his suitcase. 

The boot of the Jetta was pretty full, but the backseat only had a few plants living on the floor as well as Tom’s carry-on. Tom wondered where she’d gotten the plants, as he didn’t remember there being any plants the last time he’d visited. 

“It’s not fair,” Tom complained. 

Pamela rolled her eyes. “You should be praising me and happy I’m not Door. The 4Runner was so loaded with her stuff it was going to explode.”

“But, that was her whole life, not just part of it,” Tom reminded Pamela as he opened up the passenger side door. 

“Part of her life she brought to San Antonio took up almost my whole living room,” Pamela grumped. “She doesn’t pack light.”

“She only had two bags with her when I ran her over in San Diego,” Tom said as Pamela got into the overly hot car and started it up. The air con blasted to life. Tom aimed the vents to hit him with as much air as they could muster. 

“She was only there for what, three days?”

“Alright, I do see your point, dear,” Tom allowed, smiling over at Pamela and she threw the car into reverse. 

“Good. It’d be a long trip if you failed to concede you lucked out,” Pamela insisted.

“Lucked out?”

“You wound up with me, as opposed to a hoarder.”

Tom laughed. “Well, there you go. I’m so pleased you’re not a hoarder. I’m afraid I might be. I can never remain in one place for very long without obtaining effects.”

Pamela shook her head as she turned to head to the interstate.  

“As long as you’re not allergic to tossing things out,” Pamela said. “Then we might have a problem.”

“No. I relish a good de-cluttering,” Tom said, glancing out the window as the small area of San Antonio he was familiar with whizzed by. “I can say I do not believe I will miss San Antonio.”

“Me either,” Pamela agreed. “Though, Enid, Oklahoma might not be any better. One of the guys in my class said it’s not as bad there weather wise because it doesn’t get as humid. It’s hot and dry. It actually sounded like what I thought Del Rio was going to be like.”

“Dry and hot?”

“Yeah.”

Tom hummed. “Rather have wet and cold.”

Pamela snorted. “Well, then, guess it’s good you live in London.”

Tom didn’t bother to mention that he’d rather live in hot and dry, humid and hot, or anything if it meant he was within a stone’s throw of Pamela instead of what felt like eons. He did not dwell on that thought for long, changing the topic to tell her about the extra scenes he’d filmed for _The Dark World_. Pamela was literally the ONLY person on the planet (besides those in the movie) he could tell work related things to and know she’d never tell a soul— mostly because she’d never remember the character names or actor’s names. Also, she didn’t use any social media (or understand it). Besides those things, Tom trusted her to keep her mouth shut. 

He was almost relieved to be able to tell her things he was excited about that he knew he wasn’t supposed to tell anyone outside of the project. He’d never been able to do this before, never trusting anyone outside his tiny world enough to speak freely about things that were supposed to be “top secret.” 

“Wait,” Pamela said, frowning. “What is this for?”

“ _Thor_.”

“Didn’t they make that a few years ago? Why are you filming more scenes for it?”

Tom glanced over at Pamela, a fond smile on his face. “I love you.”

Pamela looked confused, frowning as she kept her eyes on the road. 

“It’s for the next the _Thor_ movie, darling love,” Tom explained. “Remember?”

“Why’d they make another one?” she asked. 

“To make more money? To tell another story? To give the fangirls another dose of Loki?”

“My mother is a fangirl,” Pamela announced, changing lanes suddenly. “She was telling me all about you last night and I was totally confused.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. You ruin your fan’s lives?”

Tom chuckled. “They claim I do.”

“How?”

“I think because they become…a little obsessed? Or because they believe that I’m…the best man in the world and they don’t know me and they’ll never find someone who’s as…charming as myself? I believe it’s mostly said in jest.”

“Wow, that explanation makes you sound kind of full of yourself,” Pamela laughed. Tom stuck his tongue out at her.“

 “I honestly believe they are joking that I ruined their lives. Like, they enjoy my work so much, they kind of shout ‘He ruined my life! How will I live now knowing one person got so much talent!’”

Pamela shook her head, going back into the right lane. “You also make ovaries explode.”

“Your mum told you that?”

“Yes. I guess she’s been watching videos online of your interviews and looking you up. I’m not sure, but she wanted to know if you were really like that in real life. I had no clue what to tell her,” Pamela explained. “I’ve never seen any interviews, I don’t know what you really act like in front of your fans other than what little I saw when we were in London and at the MTV Movie Awards.”

“I’m myself,” Tom assured. “It’s real. Why would I act as someone else?”

“I don’t know. Ask my mom.”

“Ah, that will make a good conversation opener when I meet her,” Tom commented, looking out the window. 

“Huh?”

“Are you not going to Colorado Springs after you look at homes in Enid?”

“Oh, yeah. I guess that means you’re coming with me,” Pamela realized.

Tom grinned. “Of course, dove love.” 

Pamela rolled her eyes and shook her head. 

OoOoOoOoOoO

* * *

OoOoOoOoOoO

_Tom_

Pamela looked a little shell shocked as they headed out of Enid (which was everything Pamela had said it would be, though not as horrid as Tom had pictured it being) a few days later. 

“I bought a house.”

“A townhouse, technically,” Tom corrected. “The fun is about to begin now, as there will be massive amounts of loan paperwork from the bank before you actually become a home owner. One doesn’t really buy it till you hand over the check.”

“True. But, I can’t believe it. I’ll actually own something other than my car.”

Tom quirked an eyebrow. “You don’t own your clothing?”

“Oh, you know what I meant,” Pamela said. “Big, adult things.”

Tom chuckled. “Anxious to grow up?”

“Not really. I don’t know. My mom always said I was a horrible child, and not in the way most kids were,” Pamela admitted, cheeks going a little pink.

Tom rested his head against the headrest of the car and smiled. He loved it when she blushed. 

“I was this little adult and she couldn’t figure out why,” Pamela went on, keeping her eyes on the road as they headed for Colorado Springs. “She tried her hardest to get me to do things more age appropriate, but I simply wasn’t interested.”

Tom grinned. “I can see that.”

Pamela scowled. 

“Oh, come now, darling dove, it’s nothing to be dour about. I was a right terror as a child. I’m sure Mum will tell you all about it when we get to London,” Tom casually dropped. 

“Mum?” Pamela asked. “Wow. We’re really doing this whole meet the parents things, aren’t we?”

“Of course. Mum wants to know the woman who captured my heart,” Tom explained, grinning widely. “As I am sure your mother wants to see the man who stole her daughter’s heart.”

“You didn’t steal anything, Thomas,” Pamela pointed out. “I threw it at you.”

“Only after I chased after you,” Tom said, smiling so wide he was sure his face was going to spilt in two. “On the topic of you not being childish enough, I believed it served you in the end. You are quite responsible. And fierce. You beat that seller down without even meeting him to get the price you wished.”

Pamela cheeks darkened further. “I just wanted the best deal. I’m not fierce.” 

“Oh, but you are. Now, tell me more about your mum. It’s been awhile since I met a mum,” Tom mused, looking out the window as the bland Oklahoma scenery passed by. “What ought I expect?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Her to ask you about how you explode ovaries and ruin lives? She’s trolling you on the internet,” Pamela chuckled. “She’s going to want to know all about it.” 

“Do you know what ‘trolling’ means, darling dove?” Tom asked, turning his head back towards her. 

“Yes. Door explained it in great detail one day,” Pamela laughed. “So, I know what it means and it’s exactly what my mother has been doing since I told her your name and what you did for a living.”

Tom hummed. “Well, I hope she’s found out more than just the fact my fans claim I ruin their lives and explode ovaries.” 

“She doesn’t believe you’re real,” Pamela admitted, frowning a little. “Like, I guess, she’s watched the press you do and interviews and doesn’t believe anyone can be, well, you.”

Pamela looked flummoxed. 

Tom pondered a moment what his life and personality must look like from a parent’s point of view who wasn’t familiar with the industry.  

“Does she think it’s an act?” he pondered.

“Yeah. But, you’re just…well, you,” Pamela said. “I mean, I don’t know what you’re like in all the things she’s watched, as I’ve not seen them, but from what I’ve seen when I, well, let it slip or they already know who I’m dating…well, they all think you’re this ultimate perfect guy.”

Tom snorted. “I’m not perfect.”

“I do know this,” Pamela laughed. “But then again, I’ve only ever known _you_ and not merely known you through what’s on the internet.”

“True, I guess. Well, I’ll just have to prove to your mother I’m, well, me.”

“And how do you plan to do that?”

“Just be myself,” Tom said. “What else would I do? Make a fool of myself?”

“Are you able to do that?” Pamela asked, raising her eyebrows at him as she glanced over at him. “Is it possible?”

“Oh, yes, it is. Trust me,” Tom said, laughing. “I make a fool of myself all the time, actually. It’s quite fun. Some might think I have no shame, but in truth, I know I’m being a joculator and I enjoy it.” 

Pamela snorted. “Of course you enjoy being the center of attention.”

“It’s quite fun,” Tom agreed. “I like making people laugh. So many of the roles I’ve done are serious, but what I really love is making people laugh.”

“Well, if you’re goofy enough, you’ll love my mom. She’s…well, not your typical lawyer turned B&B owner.”

“Do lawyers typical turn into B&B owners?”

“I’ve no idea,” Pamela admitted. “I’ve always thought she was kind of weird, but then again, she thought I was just as strange. It’s likely why we both got along as well as we did.”

Tom chuckled. While most people would be nervous to meet the parents, he’d always made a good first impression, so he wasn’t all that worried. Actually, he was quite looking forward to it. The more insight into Pamela’s life he got, all the better.

OoOoOoOoOoO

* * *

OoOoOoOoOoO

_Dorothea_

“Here.”

I look up from the sewing machine to find my dad extending a credit card at me. It appears to be his credit card, which is weird on all kinds of levels. Besides the fact I’m an adult now and have my own, my dad proclaimed after I graduated from college he’d never let me anywhere near his credit card again. 

(It’s not my fault he handed me one at sixteen and didn’t give me a spending limit. I mean, I thought I was doing a really great job at managing my spending, but I guess I wasn’t. Oops.) 

“Uh, Dad, that’s yours,” I point out, figuring he’s simply confused. (He gets muddled often about the most mundane things. Likely where I get it from now that I think about it.) 

“I know. I want you to buy yourself a plane ticket to wherever the hell Ben is at the moment,” he orders me. 

ORDERS me. 

I don’t think he’s ordered me to do anything since I was ten. That was when I figured out if I did as he asked the first time, he didn’t later yell at me and loose his temper. It’s something my brother has yet to figure out and he’s twenty-five. 

“You want me to go to Canada?”

“If that is where Ben is, then yes.”

“Why?”

I know I’ve been a mopey fifteen-year-old for the past…almost month, but what else am I supposed to do? Ben’s all famous, I’m not and I’m busy. I’ve got purses to sew, orders to fill, things to figure out…like where the heck am I going to have my studio? I need a studio. I lost the two interns I had over the summer— they went back to school— but, I’ve gained three more. (I guess they don’t go to school. Or they are in high school. Or not. I’m not sure what is going on. My mom hired them as interns, unpaid. So far, I can only afford to pay myself and Mitch. No one else gets paid.) The five of us don’t fit in the basement comfortably. There are five sewing machines crammed on this makeshift table and it’s not going well. (Other than the fact we’ve caught up on production. Yay for extra sewers!) 

“Because he looks at you as I wish Jason did,” my dad says, giving me his Dopey Dad look. He gets it usually when I go do something major— like start college, graduate college, go to England for a whole year, get married. Stuff like that. He usually doesn’t wear it when he’s stating something…like that. “Now, go upstairs, buy a ticket. I’ll pack up the days orders. I can do that.” 

“But…”

I trail off as he enters the wood shop/order packing area. He slams the door behind him, as if that ends the discussion on if I should buy a ticket to go to Toronto. (He’s not there yet, but he will be tonight. Or tomorrow. Or at some point within the next forty-eight hours. If I’ve got the dates right. I might not. Mental note: check the date.) 

I haven’t spoken to Ben since he called when I was wandering around downtown Lombard. I don’t know if he is still calling Dad, but he stopped trying to talk to me. He texts. I can deal with texts because with texts, I don’t have to hear that damn voice of his. We’ve “apologized” for our “misunderstanding,” though we’ve never actually said what the problem was in the first place. We’re tip toeing around one another. 

It feels strange, wrong, and awkward. And it’s all my fault really, as if I stop being fifteen for five seconds, I’d have to admit he did nothing wrong. He doesn’t have to tell me anything about his life unless he wants to. He can date whoever the hell he wants. He can live his life without my nose being all up in his bizness and me thinking I have a say over what he does. We are friends and not even best friends or anything. We’re just…friends. 

But, he’s home.

This is so stupid. 

Fine. My dad wants me to go see Ben, I’ll go fracking see Ben.

Now, I wonder how I’ll figure out where exactly in Toronto he is. Or if he’s actually there. 

OoOoOoOoOoO

* * *

OoOoOoOoOoO

_Pamela_

“I think you’re insane.”

“You do know, no one else will agree with that sentiment.”

“I could try to convince them.”

“You’d fail, dove.”

“I would not.”

“Yes, I’m afraid you would.”

“Why on Earth did I agree to this?”

“Because I’m adorable.”

“Shut up.”

“Okay.”

“That’s not shutting it.”

Tom sweetly stared at Pamela, making a zipping motion across his mouth to indicate he was going to be quiet. She rolled her eyes at him, trying to keep the smile that threatened to escape at bay. In order to do this, she looked away from him and out the window of the plane as they got lower and lower to the ground. 

It’d been almost two weeks since he’d shown up at the hotel in San Antonio to surprise her. Since then, she’d bought a house in Enid, taken Tom to meet her family (her mother concluded Tom was the real thing and her dad just loved the fact he was a total goofball), gone to London, attended a movie premier, gone to yet another awards show, met Hermione Granger, and now she was going to Canada to attend a film festival. 

“You know you’ll likely be mobbed by fans like you were when you went to the Cannes,” Pamela quietly said. “Door forwarded the pictures just because you showed up in that blue suit. But, you were totally mobbed by fans.” 

Tom made a few random noises that sounded like he was trying to speak without opening his mouth. Pamela turned back to him. 

“You may speak, Thomas.”

“Thank you,” he graciously said. “Is that what you’re worried about? My fans are harmless.”

Pamela gave Tom a look, which only made him sigh deeply. 

“I wish your mother didn’t know how to use the internet,” Tom grumbled, leaning back in his seat and sticking his legs out into the aisle. Even though they were seated in first class, there still wasn’t enough leg room for Tom. 

“Tragically, she does. Your fans are insane.”

“Is Door crazy?”

“She is not obsessed with your butt, your hands, how you sit, or under the delusion she’s going to marry you or something. She’s not obsessed with _you_ but rather your work.”

If Pamela was truthful, what her mother had told them (and later showed them) at dinner their first evening in Colorado Springs creeped Pamela out. Tom had the grace to take it better than she did, laughing it off and being his usual charming self, but she’d spent the past two weeks on the look out for weirdoes each time she went out in public with Tom.

She always found at least three, though it might be her imagination, as hardly anyone approached him unless he was at a major event. 

“True, though I’d like to think my fans are obsessed with my work.”

“Sure.”

“It’ll be fine, Pamela, love.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Pamela admitted. She knew she was getting worked up over nothing. 

“Just remember, it’s the internet. There are quite a few interesting people out there,” Tom lightly said, running his hands through his hair, successfully messing it up, yet somehow making it look like it should. “Every actor has a few…mad fans. It come with the job.”

“I know. I just…worry sometimes,” Pamela admitted, looking back out the window. “A crazy fan killed John Lennon. A crazy fan tried to shoot Ronald Reagan for Jody Foster. And I can’t even list the number of stalking cases I’ve heard on the morning news.”

“Those are extreme cases, love,” Tom said softly. 

“There are extreme people,” Pamela worried. 

Pamela felt Tom weave his fingers through hers and squeeze. She turned to look at him. He raised their intwined hands and kissed her knuckles. 

“Do you not think I worry constantly about you?” he quietly inquired. “You’re going to be flying around in a small explosive soon with inexperience student pilots who will try to kill you on a daily basis.” 

Pamela frowned a little, never having through of her new assignment in that manner. 

“And if you weren’t there trying to get killed by your fellow officers, you’d be in a war zone,” Tom added.

She stared at him, noticing the worry lines around his eyes. 

“So, in a sense, we’ve both have dangerous jobs,” Tom tried to joke. 

Not knowing what to say, Pamela simply squeezed his hand and rested her head on his shoulder as the plane landed in Toronto. 

OoOoOoOoOoO

* * *

OoOoOoOoOoO

_Tom_

Tom’s phone buzzed as he stood waiting for his turn in front of the photographer. It was their first full day in Toronto and Pamela was doing brilliantly with the fans, the photographers, and everyone else who littered his life. 

“Door’s just texted me,” Tom remarked quietly. “Again.”

She’d texted him a few times in the past few days, asking mostly about the film festival. Then what hotel he was going to stay in. And now she wanted to know where Ben was staying. 

“Huh?”

“Door. Your friend? You do remember her, do you not?”

“Yeah. Mopey, cranky, channeling a teenager,” Pamela rattled off, smirking a little as she tried to figure out who the man currently having his photo shoot before Tom’s reminded her of (Tom wasn’t going to tell her unless he had to, as he knew her reaction was going to be priceless. 

“She wishes to know what hotel Ben’s staying in,” Tom said, unlocking his phone. 

“What?” Pamela asked, turning her face up towards Tom. “Why does she want to know that? Oh, god.”

“Taking up stalking as a pastime?” Tom offered. 

Pamela lightly punched Tom in the arm. He grinned, quietly texting out his answer to Door’s inquiry. 

“Do you even know where he’s staying?”

“Yes, actually. He told me,” Tom replied. “She’s flying up tonight. Hopefully to sort things out with Ben. She’s not the only one who is mopey.”

Pamela shrugged. “He didn’t seem very mopey.”

Tom cast his eyes down at his girlfriend. “There is a good reason why he is a workaholic. Partly, because he adores what he is doing, but partly in order to keep himself distracted. He’s work has become his life, a way to distract himself.” 

Tom was quiet for a moment, wondering if he ought to say what he’d always thought since he’d met Ben when they’d been in _War Horse_ together. Shaking his head, he decided to keep his musings on Ben’s constantly stream of projects to himself. 

“I’m not exactly sure what happened, but I think something changed between the time Ben went to Chicago and I saw him in London after his round the world trip between _Sherlock_ filmings. He was…downtrodden.” 

Pamela shrugged, going back to studying the young actor as he finished up his photo shoot. 

“Door’s been a jealous rage monster,” Pamela said slowly. “Though, she’s got no reason to be jealous or justification for it.”

Things clicked in Tom’s head suddenly and he hit himself on the forehead. “Oh, I’m dense.”

Pamela smirked again. “Well, I wasn’t going to say it, but if you agree….”

“Tom Hiddleston!”

Tom turned from Pamela to the now done young actor and greeted, “Daniel Radcliffe!” 

They shook hands and Pamela looked bewildered. He and Dan exchanged pleasantries before he introduced Pamela. Dan held out his hand, which Pamela took, still looking utterly befuddled. 

“He played Harry Potter, love,” Tom whispered loudly out of the corner of his mouth. 

Pamela’s eyes went large and her mouth dropped open. 

OoOoOoOoOoO

* * *

OoOoOoOoOoO

_Benedict_

It’s my second night in Toronto. I like the city, but the film festival is somewhat tiring. Photo shoots, interviews, premiers…pretty much things I dislike somewhat. It’s late and I ought to be in bed, as I’ve got a long day ahead of me and I’m still jet lagged. Two of my films are showing at the festival, so I’ve got double duty compared to say Tom Hiddleston— who I haven’t seen yet due to our conflicting schedules. 

He brought Pamela with him. Martin (or Amanda) sent me the photos that surfaced of Tom showing up here in Toronto, with Pamela trailing behind him completely unnoticed in the background. 

There has been no mentions he’s shown up with his girlfriend in tow. It’s as if she was simply some poor soul trapped in his insanity (which I guess she is, though she is there by choice). For reasons unknown, Martin (or Amanda, I’m never sure who is emailing me sometimes) thought it was precious Pamela blended into the background so seamlessly and didn’t even looked as if she minded. 

I’m pretty sure it is because she does not mind. 

A knock on my door jars me out of my thoughts. I knit my brow a bit, wondering who is knocking this late at night (or early in the morning). I quietly pad over to the door and peer through the peephole. I almost fall over at the sight of Door on the other side, looking up and down the hallway as if she’s sure she’s about to get in trouble. In my haste to get the door open, I manage to hit myself in the head. 

Smooth, Cumberbatch. Smooth. 

“Well, at least I don’t inspire you to be suave and debonair,” Door remarks, sounding a little nervous. 

“Well, I am tired.”

“Oh. I can leave.”

“What? No. Get in here,” I say, grabbing her arm and hauling her into the room. “You’ve not spoken to me properly since _Sherlock_ wrapped and now you mysteriously appeared at my door? No, ma’am, you’re not leaving.”

Door nods, her bag sliding down off her arm and landing with a thump on the ground. She looks like she’s been traveling for days, clothes all rumpled and disheveled. And she’s only got one bag. I know Door well enough to know she’s incapable of packing light.

“What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t that the question of the hour?” she asks, her eyes darting around the room. “I’ve been asking myself that for the past month. Or week. Or days. I don’t know. I’m still having trouble with the whole time thing.” 

I stare at her, taking note of the bags under her eyes, the lack of color in her skin, and the fact her hair is a mess. (I like that it’s a mess. More than I ought to, likely. I also like the fact it’s more ginger than the brown shade it was the last time I saw her.) 

“Door? What is wrong?”

“YOU’RE HOME!” she yells at me. 

I take a step backwards. She heaves a few breaths before she curls into herself and sinks to the floor. Bringing her knees up to her chest, she wraps her arms around them and rocks back and forth. 

“Sorry, uh, I planned this out in my head on my way here, but of course it didn’t go as planned because you’re all…well, yeah,” she grumbles, waving a hand at me like it’ll explain to me why she forgot everything she wanted to say. 

Frowning, I fold my own legs and sit down on the floor across from her. “Door?”

“I…I’m a hot mess,” she says, which I do not think she planned on saying. “Okay? Just so you know, I’ve always been kind of a mess, but now I’m more so than usual, but…” She closes her eyes tightly. “You’re home. I know you know that makes sense because you know me. I don’t know how you’ve managed it, as we’re not all that close or known each other for eons, but you just seem to _know._ ” 

She reopens her blue, blue, blue eyes. Unlike my own, her eyes are always blue. They do not change color and for some reason I find that fascinating.

Door heaves another deep breath. 

“I like you more than I should.”

“More than you should?”

She nods. 

“As do I.”

Her eyes go wide and her mouth drops open. I shift a bit on the floor, looking down at my hands and away from those wide ultramarine eyes. 

Mark was right: she was blind to my affections. 

“I have since I met you, even though I refused to admit it to myself till much later.”

And wow, does that feel amazing to get off my chest. 

Door makes a quiet gasp. I chance a look up at her to find her still staring at me with wide eyes, but her mouth has snapped shut. 

“I…well, I tried to go on as I’d been,” I attempt to explain. You’d think with how often I’ve tried to tell her in the past few weeks, I’d be able to say it smoothly, yet everything thing I’d planned to tell her has taken a vacation to Thailand. “You were married. Even after you and Jason went your separate ways, you are still technically married to him and I made that into a road block. And I treasure your friendship. I know I have many friends, but…”

“I’m different,” Door says quietly. 

“In more ways than one,” I admit. “I feel normal around you.”

“I feel at home.”

We stare at one another for a moment that stretches. I feel as if we say quite a bit without actually using words. 

“Now what?” Door asks quietly. 

“I’m not sure.” 

Door bites her lower lip. 

She shouldn’t do that.

“Can I ask you something?” she whispers. 

“Yes.”

She lets go of her knees and unfolds herself a bit. She once more bites her lip before letting it go to ask, “Can I kiss you?”

I dumbly stare at her. 

“Or is that too…forward? Or some other word. I should know a word for this situation, shouldn’t I? Me and knowing dictionaries full of words and I can’t even thing of a word for this. It’s kind of stupid, really—hmfph.”

She fails to finish her thought, as I close the space between us and kiss her. I take her by surprise, so since she was talking her mouth was already open and it’s a bit awkward till she reaches up and pulls me to her, taking over the kiss. 

I pride myself at being a great kisser. While I tend to play these characters who are bumbling fools when it comes to women, I’m not. I’ve had a few partners who take control away from me— which usually doesn’t work out too well, but this is different. 

I like it. 

We break apart for air and I find I’m somehow on my back on the floor and Door is on top of me. How’d that happen?

“Wow,” she breaths. “We should have done that sooner.”

“Without talking?”

“Oh, who needs talking when we can do this?”

And she kisses me again. 

Bloody hell. 

OoOoOoOoOoO

* * *

OoOoOoOoOoO

_Dorothea_

I hadn’t planned on doing that. I did have a plan. I spent the entire flight planning. I even WROTE DOWN what I wanted to say, yet the moment he whacked himself in the head with the door, everything I’d planned flew out the window and I felt kind like, well, I was fifteen all over again and trying to figure out how to actually get the guy I liked to date me. (Or be alone in a room with me…that was a challenge for awhile.) 

I asked to kiss him, then he kissed me, then I pushed him over and kind of attacked him. 

He didn’t seem to mind. 

Nor did he mind when I decided he didn’t need his shirt. Or the pj bottoms. Or anything. 

Somehow he wound up naked and I was still fully clothed, including my coat. 

“How’d that happen?” he’d asked, somehow managing to realize I’d divested him of all his clothing.

He seemed quite dazed and that only fueled my desire to…well.

So, we did…that. 

I haven’t done….that…in a long time. I mean, yeah, I was married, but at the end there….not so much. I never really wanted to, he never wanted to, so we never did it very often. And god…I haven’t…like that…in…years.

Well, frack me. 

(Not literally. I’m kind of tired at the moment.) 

What was I thinking? I can’t believe I’m thinking. I shouldn’t be thinking. I should be basking in the afterglow or whatever people do after great sex, but instead I’m lying here staring at the ceiling of the hotel room in Toronto with an out of control mind. 

“Door?”

“Hmmm?”

“Stop thinking,” mumbles a deep voice.

“You know I don’t know how.”

“Yeah, actually, I do know you can turn your head off and become a pile of confused mush,” Ben says mostly into my shoulder. For some reason, even though he’s the larger one between the two of us (only because he’s six inches taller than me, not because he’s fat or anything. I’m pretty sure I’ve got more fat than he does), he’s draped across me and somehow not suffocating me. 

“So, now what?”

“We go to sleep and speak in the morning when my head works properly,” Ben mumbles, turning his head so he’s now talking into my neck. His breath tickles. 

Oh, god. 

“I’ve got time in the morning. We can share the breakfast I ordered before you popped up.”

“Will there be enough food for two of us?”

Ben snorts. “Of course. I’m not a big breakfast eater. But, I figured I might not get a proper meal, so I’d try to eat a lot in the morning.”

“Eating doesn’t work that way.”

“Oh, I know. I simply like to fool myself.”

“Are we…?”

“Door, love, I adore you and I’d very much like to talk about everything you wish, but you wore me out.”

“I wore you out? You wore me out.”

“Then why do I sound like I’m half asleep while you sound as if you’re ready to have an in depth conversation about relationships, the sun, the stars, the moon, and the theory of relativity?”

“I just want to know…”

“I’m not going anywhere. For a long time. And I don’t fancy seeing any other women,” Ben sighs, rolling off me and lying next to me on his side. Those strangely colored eyes open, pinning me. “Do you fancy seeing other men?”

“No.”

“Okay, that’s settled. Turn that light off, would you?”

Oh, if it were only that easy. 

OoOoOoOoOoO

* * *

OoOoOoOoOoO

_Benedict_

I wake in the morning, the grey light of morning seeping through the curtains and causing me to blink a few times before my eyes fully adjust. Door’s still fast asleep next to me, curled around my arm and holding it hostage. I roll onto my side and study her peaceful face. She looks so much younger in sleep than she does whilst awake. She also appears about a thousand times healthier than she did when she appeared at the door. 

My heart feels like it is going to burst. 

I’m not sure how I’m going to get through the long day I’ve got ahead of me. 

I wonder what she plans to do and for how long she’ll be here. She wished to talk last night, but I was tired and, well, not up for having a serious conversation. 

We will need to have a serious conversation at some point. 

She also only brought one bag— a carry-on. 

“Door?” I ask, trying to pry my arm out of her grip.

She mumbles something that must make sense to her, but it’s gibberish to me. 

“Door, darling, you need to let my arm go.”

“Mine,” she mutters, holding my arm tighter and dragging it closer to her. 

“Yes, dear, all yours, but you need to let me go,” I softly said, using my free hand to brush away some of her out of control hair out of her face. It’s lost any semblance of it’s normal controlled chaos and is simply chaos.

I love it. 

“No. Mine,” she mutters again, before shifting a little. I watch her further wake up. Her eyes blink open and she stares at me in mild confusion before turning pink. “Uh, good morning.” 

“Good morning. Might I have my arm?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” she says, letting me go quickly. Her cheeks are still rather pink. I’m sure I wasn’t meant to her her mutterings on possessing me. While many would think it’s a bit early days for that kind of proclamation, I’m not bothered by it. I’d like to be hers. I want to be. 

“Room service will be here shortly,” I say after glancing at the clock. I get out of bed and go to the closet and take one of the robes and toss it onto the bed. “Do you need the toilet?”

“No. I can wait.”

I nod and head into the toilet to do my morning business and get ready for my long day. A knock sounds shortly after I get dressed and I hear a short exchange at the door between Door and whoever brought up breakfast. When I re-enter the room, I notice there’s an extra set of cutlery, an additional plate, and a tiny little tea pot. 

“She had another set with her, just in case some of the people had extra people or something,” Door said, her face still a bit flushed, likely from embarrassment of having an morning exchange with a stranger while wearing a bathrobe and having bed head. “And she just gave me the tea. I’m not sure why. I didn’t tell her I didn’t want coffee.” 

“Brilliant,” I say, sitting down at the small table across from her. The table is absurdly small and hardly fits the dishes. At least there’s a small stand for the tray, so it doesn’t need to be on the table. 

We split the eggs and bacon between the two of us, as well as the tiny bowl of fruit. We eat in silence, till Door finally puts her fork down and says, “I want to make sure we’re on the same page.”

“Okay.”

She fiddles with the belt of the robe, her cheeks once again going a little pink. “I…I seem to throw myself head first into things. I mean, I only came here to speak with you in person because my dad sent me.”

I raise my eyebrow. “Your dad?”

“Yeah. I guess he got tired of me moping around the house…he said…” she trails off and doesn’t tell me what he said to her. She flips the belt back and forth between her hands. “Anyways, I only came to talk and…”

“Do you see me complaining?”

She frowns a little, still staring at her lap. She drops the belt and begins to pick at her nails. 

“Benedict, I like you a lot. Like very strongly. And there’s a part of my head that cannot wrap around the fact this is going to happen, will happen, or is happening. My life has been straight out of a storybook from the moment Basil ran at you back in Texas. You’re home to me, yet you live in London. I live in Chicago. My business is in Chicago. My only real experience with long distance relationships isn’t the best.”

I know she’s mostly referring to the man she dated when she was studying abroad in London and not Jason, who did in fact spend most of the time they were married off flying around the world. That never bothered her in the least as it bothered her once the other man had left London to return to his homeland. 

“Have you ever asked Pamela how she does it?” I inquire softly. Door glances up at me and shakes her head. “I asked Tom. A few weeks ago, because I was thinking about similar things, even if you weren’t speaking to me, but, I asked him how he and Pamela did it. They are sickeningly happy and hardly actually see one another and likely won’t any time soon.”

“What did he say?”

“Well, in his usual long winded, poetic manner of speaking he basically said it works because they love one another,” I reply. He hadn’t used those words, but that was the basic gist of what he was trying to tell me. “They work because they click. He’s been a spoiled brat theses past few weeks that he’s spent with her, but I hadn’t realized just how often they were in constant contact with one another when they were apart till I asked.”

Door nods. “Yeah, I had noticed that. I mean, they use Skype, they text, they call one another all the time.” 

“We already do that,” I point out. “I talk to you more than I do my best friends.” 

“But, you see them more often than you see me,” Door points out. 

“True, but…I want to try. This,” I gesture between the pair of us. “I really want to try this. More than ever.” 

While I pride myself in being a fantastic lover, last night blew me away. It was brilliant. 

Now, I’ve alway been of the line of thought that intimate relationships are always better when there’s some sort of connection between the two people taking part. It is why I almost never do what I did last night. I don’t normally go from first kiss to sex without a few dates between. I want to get to know the person before I take them to bed, connect with them on some level other than a lust level. I know on some level, lust did play a role last night, there was something else there altogether.  

Everything was…brilliant. Just brilliant. 

Great, now I’m channeling Arthur Shappey. 

“Ben, I don’t share well.”

“What do you mean?” 

“For some reason, you turn me into a jealous rage monster,” she says, staring at me with what appears to be embarrassment and worry in her eyes. “I see you with other women and see green.”

I had guessed that much. 

“And I know some of the women are just friends, or just acquaintances, or just people you know, but still…I’m not Pamela. I’m not immune to it.”

“I doubt she’s immune, she just doesn’t know,” I point out. “How did she react to the women Tom was photographed with at Wimbledon?” 

“It kind of just rolled off her back,” Door says. “I mean, I pointed it out to her and she was like, ‘Uh, okay.’ I think she only brought it up to Tom because she’d gone to that gathering and the wives got to her.”

“So, she and Tom spoke about it?”

Door nods. 

“Well, if you see photos and I’m doing something you’re comfortable with, then talk to me,” I softly said, pushing around the left over eggs on my plate. “Also, I doubt we’ll have further problems.”

Door grimaces. “They’re going to keep guessing about your dating life, making things up…”

“Then don’t read that stuff,” I try. 

“I don’t read anything. I am not on Tumblr, I don’t real the gossiped rags or anything. Just Pinterest.”

“And it’s a land of who is Benedict dating?”

“No.”

“Well, what’s the problem?”

Door wrings her hand in her lap. “Jason cheated on me.”

“Door…”

I have no clue what to say. I would like to say my mother raised me right and I’d never do something like that to someone, but I know that wouldn’t be the correct thing to say to Door at the moment. 

“I never thought in a million years he’d do that. Some of the guys I dated in the past, yeah, but Jason?” Door asks. “God, I didn’t want to talk about this.”

“No, we need to,” I say, taking the napkin off my lap and wiping my mouth. “I could tell you I’d never do that to you, but that is not why you brought this topic up.”

Door gives me a look and sighs deeply. 

“I know,” she says. “I guess…we need to communicate. Jason and I didn’t do that so much.”

“We do communicate. When you speak to me,” I point out.

Door grimaces. “I know, I know. I’ll try not to channel my teenage self any longer.” 

“That might be best.”

“So, now what?” Door says, pushing her plate away from her and moving her chair back a bit. “What’s on your plate for today?”

Ah, now she’s changing the topic. 

“I’ve got to go to a few press things this morning, but I have a few hours free this before the premier tonight.”

“Okay. Pamela wants to meet up,” Door says, fiddling with her phone. “I guess Tom’s mostly doing stuff this morning. Or will be. They’ve been up since some ungodly hour. They went running. Together. Crazies.”

I chuckle. If Door hadn’t been here, I would have dragged myself out of bed earlier and gone down to the pool for a few laps. As it was, I’d did another kind of cardiovascular activity and went back to sleep. 

“So, uh, we’re together, right? Like…er…it’s been awhile since I’ve done this, and well…we’re exclusive, right?”

I look up at Door, who is regarding me under her eyelashes, which are quite light now that I’ve seen them without mascara. I hadn’t realized I’d never seen her without makeup on before. 

“Your gorgeous in the mornings,” I blurt out. 

Door looks up at me, giving me a look that clearly tell me she thinks I’m mental. 

“Seriously.” 

“Uh, okay, that didn’t answer my question.”

“I thought I’d already answered that question,” I point out. Door frowns. “Yes, Door.” I lean around the tiny table till my face in inches away from hers. “You’re mine.” 

Something inside me cheers and roars at the proclamation, but nothing beats the fact the smiles that blooms on Door’s face is bright enough to light up the darkest of rooms. 

Door grabs me by the collar and drags me even closer. Somehow I manage not to stumble or ungracefully fall over the table. 

“You’re mine,” she all but growls, still smiling as she presses her lips to mine.

Oh, god, yes, yes I am. 


End file.
